Today I Think That If For No

Is Anything Sadder Than A Trainthat Leaves When It's Supposed To,that Has Only One Voice,only One Route?there's Nothing Sadder.except Perhaps A Cart Horse,shut Between Two Shaftsand Unable Even To Look Sideways.

But Many, Many Stories Were Told; From What Could Be Gathered, All Fifty Of The Mine's Inhabitants Had Reacted On Each Other, Two By Two, As In Combinatorial Analysis, That Is To Say, Everyone With All The Others, And Especially Every Man With All The Women, Old Maids Or Married, And Every Woman With All The Men. All I Had To Do Was To Select Two Names At Random, Better If Different Sex, And Ask A Third Person, "what Happened With Those Two?" And Lo And Behold, A Splendid Story Was Unfolded For Me, Since Everyone Knew The Story Of Everyone Else.

Man Is A Centaur, A Tangle Of Flesh And Mind, Divine Inspiration And Dust.

There Is Auschwitz, And So There Cannot Be God.

I Have Many Times Been Praised For My Lack Of Animosity Towards The Germans. It's Not A Philosophical Virtue. It's A Habit Of Having My Second Reactions Before The First.